Jareth's Journal: Early Years
by JTheGoblinKing
Summary: Old Labyrinth fan fiction from Jareth's point of view.


Disclaimer: The following is an old Labyrinth fan fiction I wrote for a Labyrinth fan fiction group years. Labyrinth belongs to Henson. Most, if not all, of the Labyrinth fan fiction I am going to post here is at least ten years old, if not older. You will see the original dates they were written placed into these documents. These fan fictions predate the canon of Return to Labyrinth.

To: .

Subject: [labyfic] Jareth's early years: The birth of a king (Part 1 of 4)

From:

Date: Thu, 21 Sep 2000 20:30:00 EDT

Jareth's Journal: Early years 2:

Yes, I am back. And I have now with me some more of Jareth's old

journal Entries. This time they are from various different time periods and

places straight up until his meeting with Sarah. To those who enjoy The

Jareth's journal postings and had asked that I continue them, here are some

of Jareth's Journal Entries pre-Sarah. This Entry is called The birth of

a king.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Entry 2:

I do not know where to begin. I do not know where to start. I

do not know what to say. I would like to say that I understand it all. I do

not. I would like to say that I am a sane man in an insane world. I can't

guarantee that my mind is entirely sound. I would like to shut my eyes and

pretend that I am not here, that I know who I am, and what I am doing, but I

can't.

My first day here in this place, as the king, I found to be quite

unnerving. I woke up in the folds of the satin coverings of what I have

reluctantly grown to call my bed. But though it was still foreign to me it

was my bed. And this was my castle now, was it not?

I woke up, not by a call to act as king by one of my many goblin

servants. And what a truly loathsome pack of beasts they are. They reek of

rotted food and excrement. They talk in nonsensical gibberish and laugh at

the stupidest of things Ah, but they were mine, as loathsome as they were.

I woke up, not by the call to act as king by one of my many goblin servants

but by the harsh brightness of the early morning sun, pouring down from the

French windows of my bed chamber that lead out to a relatively unused

terrace. I hadn't bothered with shutting the curtain upon retiring to sleep

the night before and for this reason the sun stirred me around from my sleep.

I was quite groggy. I was always more of a night owl, and never one for

coherent thoughts or quick activities before the noon hour.

I had always been more of a night owl then a morning person. AndI

was quite disorientated. At first I had thought it had all been some

fantastical dream, that I was still safe and sound on Earth, still an

innocent boy, naive to his secret birth right, and still engaged to the

beautiful, dear and loving Sarah. But it all came rushing back to me, all

of it when I was drawn from my, sweet, forgiving, and pain numbing sleep.

I had been born, as I had believed, to a human man and a woman, and

had thought myself for a good part of my life to be a perfectly ordinary

mortal man. I had been gravely mistaken. I had always felt a bit out of

place and knew that I had been meant for extraordinary things. I could feel

it inside of me, something deep inside of me that penetrated through all

else, that I was better then anyone else, more attractive, more cunning, more

aggressive, and talented, but no one else could see or sense this. And I had

been told more often then not that I was simply an arrogant, and narcissistic

young man. Well, that may well have been true but there was more to me, by

far, then the gorgeous face of a self-satisfied, physically appealing, loved

young man. I had been raised by the man that I had always believed to be my

father. My mother had died when I had been born. But I had never been

blamed for her death. Her dying wish had only been for my happiness. And I

was not her killer but merely the force life that she created with her dying

breath. It helps to learn, when you are very young, that with every end

there is a new start. Nothing ever really ends, just changes, and the spark

of my life came from the fading candle light of my mother's.

I had been named Jareth, a decent enough name, I would say, if

one would not have known it's two thousand year old meaning, "One with flaws

of problems of the genitalia" but clung to the fairly modern translation of

the name "the young prince," or "One of royal blood."

But I was not a prince, nor was I the son of a noble, to my

knowledge. My father had been fairly well off, a large fish in a small pond

as it were. He was a wealthy peasant, or as wealthy as one of a low birth

station could be considered. And he was a considerable alcoholic. And I

found myself often disgusted by his condition. But his wealth, and my

charisma kept me in the public eye, and I was not unloved and distracted by

ephemeral pleasures, passing fancies, and aesthetic enjoyments where a more

lasting satisfaction might, just might have been missing. Many would claim

that they were attracted to me for this or that reason, they would find some

reason or another to "fall in love" with me. They all believed that they

were in love with me. God knows, I never believed it. At first in my na=EFve

youth, I might have, but when the words came more often from more and more,I

started to doubt and question and then to my horror see their reasons for

"loving" me.

They would never really know me at all and yet they would state

that they loved me. At first I found this to be most perplexing in my youth.

But then as I grew more to accept their "loving" I grew to learn how to use

this to my advantage, feeding off of their attractions to me like a leach. I

did not love any of them, but for the sake of my own benefit I would pretend

to be. I would be the innocent in love for them, or the aggressive,

experienced lover. Whatever they wanted of me, whatever I was to be for them

I was. I would be whatever they wanted me to be. But I would grow weary of

having to live up to their expectations of me. I would always convince them

that they were important, if they were to believe that they had my affection,

they would immediately believe that there was something special about them.

And I liked allowing my lovers, the ones I would select for my bed, to

believe themselves to be important. And maybe in some strange way, they all

were.

I was like a walking mirror for many, with my natural gift of

understanding personalities and natures, they would believe that I would

reflect themselves. It was almost as if I could vaguely read their thoughts

and emotions. Of course I was not empathetic. God knows that would be Hell

for a creature such as myself. I simply knew, I did not feel it, I was

detached from it, I knew what they wanted, what their dreams were, and I

would provide, so long as they satisfied me in turn. But I doubt now that I

ever truly was satisfied, though then I would have said that I was. They

would see within me only what they would wish to see, often things that were

not really there. They would want to see a gentleman, I was be a gentleman.

A pretty older woman with a heavily accented voice would want of me- a

rebellious, angst-ridden boy, and so that is what I would be for her. A

handsome young chap would want to see a frustrated genius, I would be the

frustrated genius, and to an extent I suppose I was. I had always been

extremely creative, very talented in singing and in painting. I was quite the

artist. But very few saw my talent and those who did often would

misinterpret what I was trying to say with it. A young girl would wish to

see me as some sort of charitable hero, and that is precisely what I would be

for her, in public and in bed. Some would hope that I'd be in experienced in

some way of love making, that to them was "different" from the conventional

sort, and so I would pretend that I was na=EFve for them. I was not. I was

well educated in the arts of love and love making, by experience, trial and

error. I was experimental and this lead to quite a talent and seducing and

satisfying my lovers. Perhaps all of those roles that I played for my

conquests were all aspects of who I had been then. I really do not know for

certain. I can't say for certain. But what I do know is that what they saw,

might have been a facet but it was not the whole. It was only what they were

willing to see and accept because it made sense to them.

It reminded me of an old tale I had heard once. A troop of

perfectly blind men were set before an elephant and each were sent to touch

but one small fraction of the creature to determine what it was. One felt

the tail and thought the creature to be a whip and stood firm to his

convictions, believing totally that it was a whip. Another groped the

elephant's leg and believed wholeheartedly that it was a tree trunk. The next

touched the elephant's ear and believed it to be the sail of a ship. And so,

like just a single facet to a crystal exposed, I existed. To a world of

blind hands I was the elephant, only partially touched. Does this help to

clarify how I was perceived in my world?

And as time passed, and the empty lovers came and went, like wiring

dancers across a stage, as I stood perfectly still, watching them come and

go, only lightly touching me and then coldly I'd allow them to pass me by. I

would never reach out to try and grasp one of these fleeing, spinning

creatures. I would take my fill of each of them, and their precious, na=EFve,

and lying ideals. I grew weary of the acting, as gifted at it as I was. And

I never found a lover that seemed to see me until I had met Sarah.

Sarah looked at me one day, just a quite, impassive, girl's face,

staring only with vague interest, in a crowd of my gawking admirers. Heaven

knows why she had been there. She was not obsessed with me and my beauty as

the others were. She looked at me for only a brief moment, and happened to

look at her large eyes, having never really stared in to the eyes of any of

my lovers for any extended period of time. And she looked on me, not knowing

of my father's wealth or of the stories of my sexual conquests. She did not

know my name. She did not seem to care. She did not see a handsome face.

She did not see a struggling artist. She did not see an angry boy. She did

not see an arrogant brat. She did not see a seducer of youth. She did not

see a financially contented child. She did not see a restless soul. She did

not only see bits and pieces of misinterpreted paintings and words in song

but she saw me. And in some strange instant she saw all of me. And needless

to say I willingly allowed myself to, for the first time in my life, fall in

love. And once I had Sarah, no other lover mattered. I even intended to

leave with her, in my restlessness, to travel and find myself, with her at my

side, as my young bride. For never had I felt so happy, so alive, so nearly,

ACTUALLY contented, as I did when I was with her.

To: .

Subject: [labyfic] Jareth's early years: The birth of a king (Part 2 of 4)

From:

Date: Thu, 21 Sep 2000 20:30:27 EDT

I remembered how my true father had come one night. That was when

my life changed, my world changed, and what remained of my strange, naive,

unexplainable innocence, in simply being human, faded away from me forever.

It had been while I had been with Sarah. She had fainted when he had

appeared, as if from no where, in a bursting blast of blue flame and light,

turned to dust.

He had explained that the man that had raised me only believed

himself to be my father. He had taken that man's form (being a

shape-shifter) and had made love to my mother in deceit. He told me that now

was the time that I learn of my true birthright. And he brought me to this

strange other place, this Labyrinth in The Underground. A strange name,

wouldn't you say? Considering that there is a sun here, and that there is a

sky and we are not at all under the ground, this other world, to Earth, this

strange place of chaotic order. If it were ordered chaos it would surely be

Hell. And I am not saying that it is not Hell. For it has brought me very

little happiness in my first few weeks of being here, now my very first day

as the actual king..

He taught me of my magick and told me that I shall never grow old

and that I shall never die. It seems all so wondrous, doesn't it? But it was

not. Things are not always what they seem. That night I returned for Sarah,

because I could not stand to be without her. I think I realized then, that

with all of my lovers, in my search for fleeing satisfaction and desperate

needing of the approval of others, that I surely was something of a

co-dependent creature.

Sarah understood so much and I found it difficult to conceive

that I had ever lived without her. So, needless to say I told her that I

was, The Goblin Prince, and took her here to The Underground. Sarah learned

fast of the terrible secret of where most of the goblin population had come

from. And in her disgust and grief she fell in to madness. She could not

see me anymore but as being some sort of cruel monster, a destroyer of

children. I tried to rationalize it for her in justifying, articulate words

as my father had, but she would not listen. And she destroyed herself.

She had stabbed herself. And by some cruel justice by the power of

the magick of The Underground as I rushed to grab her dying form, her blood

stained on to my hands. And I can't ever wash the stains away. And so I

was forced to hide the crimson blemishes that have stained the flesh of my

hands with gloves. And as it had seemed emotionally, now it seemed

physically, that I was condemned to never actually touch another, always

hidden behind some covering, never honest, never really feeling them, or them

feeling me, but only what seems=E2=80=A6

I lay in a depression for days, despising myself and this wretched

little world, knowing damned good and well the price for what my life was,

and what I had taken for granted. And I hated everything. And I blamed

myself, I blamed the goblins, and above all else, I blamed my father. I

hated him, loathed him for stealing me away from my life. And the fleeting

pleasure that had come from the first few moments of knowing that I was truly

a prince had been lost forever. I needed a justification. There had to have

been someone or something that I could blame, other then myself, for what

happened to Sarah. I could not bear that there was no way to retaliate

against it, that it was the will of The Fates.

For days and days I just lay in my bed, staring up at nothing, not really

moving, remaining silent, and eerily calm. I reacted to nothing. I did not

even know that days had past really. I only vaguely recall light and dark,

light, and then dark again. So I knew that time had passed. I did not eat

or sleep in the blurred time of detached, embittered thoughts.

My father, in a disgusting attempt to control me and my "too

human" emotions that would "surely drive me mad" slipped me a peach, woven

with an enchantment that would erase all memories of my mortal life, and of

Sarah. The spell had seemed to work, and I was quite confused, and lost

within myself for nearly a day and a half. The spell broke by mistake. And

the memories flooded back, incredibly painful, and incredibly fast. In

contempt and rage I murdered my immortal father, with a method that I shan't

name for the chance that someone should read this and attempt to destroy me

in turn, one of the few methods by which I can surely be destroyed.

And so I was thrown in to my position as The Goblin King because,

simply because, I was his son. And the goblins needed a ruler.

Now, as I woke this morning I was forced to face my first day as

The Goblin King. I felt like a newborn child left to govern for himself.

And needless to say I was frightened. A part of me wanted to weep but I did

not. I had grown far too cold for tears. And I was deeply bitter for all

that I had been subjected to. I was old and world-weary before my time. And

I wondered just how I could possibly endure forever.

Well, I thought, now what am I to do with my magick? It was my

first day as goblin king and though I knew my powers to be substantial I was

still the novice when it came to knowing how to employ my magick.

Since it was my first day as the king I reasoned that I probably had

very little to do as far as kingly duties, which gave me the chance to brush

up and study my new magical skills. I knew that there were books of magick

in the castle's library. I would study in there, if by some mercy, no idiot,

illiterate goblin would interrupt me.

The library was a vast hall of wall-shelving, isles of wooden bookcases,

spiraling staircases leading up to higher levels with old scrolls and texts.

There were books in Latin and English, scrolls written in the spiraling

characters of the Old Celtic, that I only vaguely knew, the symbols for

trinity, eternity, the elements and magick.

There was one book in particular that caught my eye. It appeared as

if it had been left out deliberately for me to find. It was bound in beaten

leather, and the pages where brittle, hard, and yellow, so fragile, like

paper made from dried sand. The text was hand written, in a fine black ink.

The words were in a curling, nearly calligraphy style, and English script.

It was clearly the handwriting of my father. And all of his knowledge of his

own magick, that I now possessed, existed within those paged. What a stroke

of marvelous luck!

I knew how to form my crystals and what power they possessed but I

never had dreamed of the extent of what potential they carried.

After reading for hours and retaining more then enough information about

my own magick, I held out my hand.

I felt a cool wind, what felt like a tiny tornado on the base of

my hand. In a moment or so a fine, transparent ooze seeped from my fingers,

from the palm of my hand, a cool, icy gel. It came through the leather of my

gloves and formed in my hand the round shape. The coolness dulled and in my

hands I soon held, as it completely took shape, a perfectly formed a

perfectly clear, crystal orb. My arm tingled with the feel of the magick. I

had to remember that the crystal sphere was only an extension of my own

magick and power that existed, flowing through me, like my blood, within

myself.

And as I thought on this the crystal began to move as if by it's own

volition. It began to dance and spin on the tips of my fingers, and as I

lightly moved my hand, it moved still, rolling down the back of my hand,

never leaving me for an instant. I thought it the mot remarkable thing. I

wished to move to the left of my hand and the moment the thought crossed my

mind the transparent, crystal orb slid down my hand and rested on the left

edge of my opened right palm, before, as if dancing, it returned to the

center of my palm. The light danced off of it's clear surface, proving to

me, beyond the tingling sensation between my arm, wrist, hand, and the

crystal, that the crystal was spinning and it moved because in my mind I

willed it to move there. I simply moved my hand with the crystal, I did not

move the crystal with my hand. It was all a matter of mere thought and will.

The way it slid so seamlessly, I thought to be just fantastic.

And then I heard it. My senses were as acute as that of a barn

owl. I would have smelt the bugger coming if I had not heard him. The

clitter-clotter of goblin feet rushing down the hall. And then the doubled

doors to the library flew open. I wished that the crystal be gone. I did

not wish for the beast to see that I was practicing on my own, natural

skills. The crystal vanished the moment the thought crossed my mind.

I lowered my now empty hand, believing it remarkable, that there was

not even the slightest bit of residue from the lost crystal orb, how quickly

it had gone, as if it had never been there, like the popping of a soap

bubble.

I turned from my seat at the writing desk, slamming shut the

ancient book. I stood up and turned to face the creature in the doorframe.I

must have seemed like a dazed man, almost startled, perplexed, having nearly

forgotten about just what I was the king of. I shook my head and then my

expression turned. My entire countenance changed from that of momentary

wonder to cold anger. "What the Hell is it? What do you want?" I snapped.

The creature was no more then three and a half feet tall. I felt like

kicking the damnable thing away from me. It stood in ragged clothing,

garments of a another place and time. He was human once. Could he recall?

I hoped not. The thought disturbed and disgusted me, how easily a life, an

awareness, a humanity, even my own, could be so quickly stolen away. But

surely he had just been a baby when he had been changed in to that thing. It

had horns on it's head, ugly yellow horns, like some sort of rotted, tainted

ivory turned to festering tree bark. It's eyes were large and yellow, with

vertical irises, like those of a cat. They looked in me with fear and

admiration all at once, completely blind loyalty, and respect. It was coated

in a pelt of matted brown and black fur. And it smelt of dog's droppings.

It hadn't a nose but a flat snout in the center of it's overly large face.

And it stood a crooked pose as if it had been hunched over for quite a long

time.

"Sire!" It said frantically.

"Yes." I said, somewhat impatiently.

"A baby has been wished away, your majesty."

A baby had been wished away. That was one of my responsibilities,

wasn't it? I had claim to all that I had been summoned to collect, that

which was wished away, undesired from Earth, were mine by right. And it was

my responsibility, was it not, to turn these unwanted creatures in to

goblins?

I had worked that magick only once before, in the turning of a baby

in to a goblin, to prove myself to my true father.

I thought myself to be the most wicked of creatures in existence. By

some dark, and terrible instinct that existed within me like some bestial

calling it gave me a strange and horrifically satisfying thrill to do it.

The baby's sibling, an older brother, tried to make his way through

the intricate labyrinth and failed.

The Labyrinth is a great building with hundreds upon hundreds of

winding, turning and twisting, passages, halls, rooms, corridors, riddles,

and traps, so complex that no one that had entered it would ever, it seemed,

be able to find their way out again.

The great walls of The Labyrinth spread out for several, kilometers

around. It is extremely complicated. The Labyrinth is the most complicated-

the most elaborate system of working mechanics to act as a security system

that has ever been constructed before. It is very near to impossible that

any creature, human or other could ever find it's way through this great

contraption save for it's master, as I now was, who knew the trick of The

Labyrinth. If one always turned right upon a passage they would find their

way through The Labyrinth easily, so long as you always turned right.

It was the largest, most complicated maze that had ever been

constructed. It's passages ran both under and above the ground. There were

several different complicated and continuously functioning parts. In all

there were over thirteen different interconnected puzzles, traps and mazes

that made up the great Labyrinth.

It seemed to spread out, on and on forever and ever. It was truly

wondrous. The alchemy involved in it's very being, the technology combined

with magick was astonishing. No magician and no man alive, it seemed alone

could possibly un-riddle the great Labyrinth which surrounded The Goblin City

just before my castle which stood at the heart of The Labyrinth.

To: .

Subject: [labyfic] Jareth's early years: The birth of a king (Part 3 of 4)

From:

Date: Thu, 21 Sep 2000 20:30:50 EDT

I watched with mild amusement and cold contempt for humanity, for the

life that I had lost, as the clock struck at the thirteenth hour. The

fleeting rush of increased power, and adrenaline was incredible. I watched

the tiny, smooth, innocent, pink face of the baby human transform, by my

cruel, and more then likely, what can only be perceived as evil will. I do

not seek to justify what I have done. I do not see forgiveness. I do not

care for any of that. I know what I had done, and of the evil, heartless,

wickedness of my actions. The older sibling, the boy failed my Labyrinth and

went stark raving mad in it's corridors before dying by stumbling in to one

of the Labyrinth's many traps, hours after his failure. And I did not care.

I already had the blood of a life on my hands that could never be washed

away. What did it matter what I did now? I was damned! I was a terrible,

evil damned thing. One person can save or destroy a world a thousand might

do nothing. Or it could be reversed. All life was of infinite potential and

therefor infinite value. And I, with my magick, did not create, I destroyed.

It was my destiny.

And I won't justify it now. I had taken pleasure in it. I was

filled, as I may well, still be for quite some time to come, with a hate and

contempt for humanity, simply for the fact that I am not a part of it any

longer.

Everything fell into a mentally clear view. The horrible

realization hit me suddenly as if someone had swung at me and only now did I

feel the blow.

I had killed now, and I had destroyed a human innocence and awareness

in a fate quite possibly worse then death itself. I had taken great pleasure

in it. I had taken a life and it was a beautiful experience. Is misery made

beautiful right before my eyes in taking life, and destroying innocence?

Such a perfect monster I had become! I was a monster now! I could not

pretend that I was otherwise though I know that I still retain a gorgeous,

human form. I had been taken to the edge of darkness and now I started a

steep fall from grace. Would I burn in Hell for this, as the Christians

believe? I could not die so how could I? I was burning right now from the

inside out.

I had killed a child and utterly destroyed another and I had loved it. I

had killed someone and I had wanted to do it. I was a selfish monster that

for my own contentment I had murdered someone. I felt no guilt in this but

the knowledge of what I had done until now.

Perhaps I felt guilty because I thought that I should have felt guilty.

I should have felt guilty and yet I did not. I wanted to do it, perhaps that

was the worst part of it all, that I had done it by choice, that I had

ENJOYED it! I was happy that I had murdered him. I wanted to weep but not

because I had killed him but because I did not truly feel guilty at the fact

that I had murdered him. In the fact that I had felt pleasure in his death,

and the changing of his baby sibling, and not regret caused me to regret it.

I was truly a monster now and a part of me actually wanted to laugh. Oh,

what a monster I was! What a monster I truly was! I wanted to weep but not

for the death of the boy, or the destruction and horrible metamorphosis of

the baby but because of my own lost innocence. I actually had thoroughly

enjoyed it all. I had actually taken pleasure in the taking of his life, his

sanity, and the humanity of the baby.

All life I believed was of equal value. If you kill one person then

you may as well kill a thousand. If you kill a thousand men then you may as

well kill one. All life was of an infinite value. One person could save or

destroy a world but was that really true? Did the actions of any individual

truly shake the great plan of the universe? Was there a plan all? Do any of

us ever really have an effect on the universe? Was I wrong in my beliefs of

the value of one human life for it sure felt that way now? Was everything

that I had ever truly had faith in a lie?

Everything was different now. Nothing was right. Nothing was the way I

had always had seen it. Nothing was right. I was torn. I did not know what

to do. I wanted to cry and yet I did not feel the true pain needed to cause

me to cry. What should I have done? I was lost and confused. Nothing was

the way it had been. My morals had been turned upside down and then

tarnished with magick, power, and rage. I was lost. I was lost to the world

and there was absolutely nothing that I could do about it.

I had forsaken everything that was left in me that was human. What was

left of me that was human died today. I truly had died. But I did not mourn

for myself. No one would ever mourn for me, nor did I wish that anyone

would.

I had stumbled blindly into darkness without pain and yet with pain. I

was confused. I had loved doing it and I would easily do it a gain but I did

not want to. I did not want to ever do it again but not for the right

reasons. I was not human anymore.

What had I done? What had I become? Everything was different now. It

was as if my world had flipped. I would always remember that first "royal

act" as I would surely remember the last. Would there be a last? Would this

ever end? Would this ever come to a stop? No. No, it would never really

end. It would just go on and on. I was an immortal now. This was like a

mad ride that would never come to a stop.

It was as if I had died with that child's innocent human, cry, a cry for

mercy that I had chosen, spitefully to ignore. I had lost my innocence. I

had lost my blood innocence. I had become the monstrous thing that my father

had been and nothing would ever be the same. It was scary. I saw the future

before me and it was dark and bleak. I did not like it.

I felt as if I was a calm pond in the middle of the forest and someone

had come along and thrown a stone in to that water causing ripples that would

just grow bigger and bigger. And yet like most ponds the ripples would

eventually go away and the outside appearance may seem still once more.

Unfortunately though the rock that had been tossed would always be on the

bottom of that pond and then that stone becomes part of the pond forever

whether he likes it or not. And he can never remove it from his heart. It

can never go away. He simply has to learn to live with it there in the

darkest and most painful reaches of his heart. And the pond simply has to

accept this for he really has no choice in the matter.

Strange, human morals haunted me, that I hadn't realized that I even

possessed, as if they were the fragments of a dead mortality. I felt the

pain of knowing that what I felt was not what I should have felt as was the

pleasure of my actions. My dying human morality haunted me. But this would

surely pass.

Where was I? Who was I? What was I? What had I become? What was I to do

now? This was not right. I felt lost. I was not anywhere. I was nowhere.

I was not anywhere. I did not know what to do or where to go from there. I

was and would always be damned. I felt as if a ton of bricks had just landed

on me.

My dying morals ate at away at my still human soul the way a pain of an

amputated limb would still hurt a man after it had been removed. What was I

to do?

It was not justified. I was a killer. It was not justified as I would try

to convince myself that it was. There was no real fairness to it. All life

was of equal value. One life is equal to a thousand as a thousand lives can

equal just one. All lives had equal chance at success or failure. All life

was of infinite potential and possibility. One life could change the world

while a million people could do nothing. The value of life, be it one or a

thousand lives, was equal to infinity. I was a killer now and I could never

change that. Nothing could change that. Nothing could make up for what I

had just done. I was a murderer.

There was nothing to stop my descent into darkness. There was no turning

back. I could never turn back. I had now crossed the ultimate line from

where now I could not return on the darkest side. No one could return from

this point in darkness. Once you start your fall from grace there is no

turning back. I could not comfort myself. I didn't deserve comfort. I was

a murderer. I had no idea that it would be this way. I did not imagine that

all of this would be such an experience of mental torture and confusion. Now

I was endlessly falling down a downward spiral. I felt as if I was trapped in

a grave and every time I tried to climb out someone threw more dirt on to my

face. I could never win. I could never be happy. I would never find peace.

All I could do now was allow myself to fall and submit to the spiritual

burial of my will and integrity. "Here lies the lost morality of Jareth,

King of the Goblins."

It seemed that I would never find peace, not this night nor ever again. I

wanted to get as far from here is possible. Now I was trapped forever on the

dark side of the glass damned, do to my own foolish naivete to darkness.

I had just forsaken the last of my mortality, my humanity. I was a

murderer and I took pleasure in death and destruction. I was a monster as

surely as my goblins are monsters.

I had found a horrible pleasure in watching the terror fill the boy's

eyes as he heard the chiming of thirteen. I watch the plump baby face, I

remember that the baby's eyes were shit, and the child was giving off a

terrible din that would soon fade off in to oblivion forever, as I would

change it. As the child had cried it had seemed as if the baby could deny

what I was about to do with it. I watched with cold amusement as the sweet,

innocent, and fearful face, that very nearly trusted me, for my coddling it,

with my deceptive, seeming kindness, as it turned in to a hideous, grotesque,

and deformed goblin's face. And the tiny hands that reached up to be held

turned in to, hooked, groping and scratching claws. And the cries turned in

to a gurgled growling. A small part of me was repulsed that I could possibly

allow myself, even if no one was there to stop me, to do such a thing. I

rationalized it. I told myself that I hadn't the choice, that it was my duty.

But there is always a choice, no matter the situation. I could have fled.

I could have denied it. I could have tried to destroy myself. But I would

not. And there was that horribly sadistic rush of excitement, and nearly

sexual, satisfaction of power, that it was I that had destroyed this child.

That it was I that inflicted such suffering on humans. That I could and

would do this, time and time again! And that I did it because I could do it!

I liked to do it. And I liked to do it for the simple reason that I had the

power, that I COULD do it! They would know my power before I would steal

away their human minds, their intellects dulled, their memories wiped clean

of their mortal lives, replaced by the terribly simplistic goblin mind. I

was disgusted and enchanted at once. I was my own prisoner.

Dusk had come and night was settling a shadowy blanket over

all.

As the night set in and the darkness deepened- adding depth to the faintest

shadows I felt a torture, a longing, a desire. The wounds, the emotional

scars left by so many things, best to be forgotten remained unhealed or the

scars had been reopened some how. I was aching inside.

I loved the night. It was my favourite time of the day, or more

precisely the dusk was. I loved the multiple, subtle colours of the sunset

as the light would fade off and the golden ball would fade off in to the

distance, as melting in to the horizon, like a melted down candle burning out

finally. The night seemed a reminder to me that there can be a comfort in

darkness. The light was harsh and made things far too apparent. Night was

the time for the dreamers. And mystery. Where there is mystery there is

hope. Nighttime was when that world was finally sleeping. It was when my

thoughts could begin to stray and wander, wondering about the most peculiar

and abstract ideas. And I imagined that I was somehow, somewhere else, far

away. And I was actually happy.

Early in the evening, tonight, I took on the form of the white barn

owl I flew over my large and intricate Labyrinth

I thought of an owl, a majestic creature with extreme beauty.

Then a great sensation took me over. I was shrinking. I felt

the pulling of my skin and the soft tickle of the fathers. My eyes saw in a

new way. I was small. I was no longer capable of vocal speech in this form

but I could will, force out my thoughts telepathically and found that if I

tried then I could hear other thoughts, there were only a few in this place.

I flapped my white wings almost instinctively and I flew towards

the window. Oh, the freedom of flight, it was fantastic. I loved it. I

could swoop and spiral and turn on the wind like a piece of paper fluttering

in the autumn air. The cool air scraped gently at my belly as if it were

welcoming me home

With this power also it awoke in me the realization that I could

move faster then human eyes could see if I chose to do so. And time was

something that was also under his control if I chose but this would only be

so within my realm, The Underground.

Out, I flew, over The Labyrinth.

I loved this power to fly in the shape of a bird. It was

absolutely fantastic. I could see all of The Labyrinth and my eyes as the

owl eyes could see, as I never had seen before. I saw depth in darkness and

within crevices. I could hear the heartbeat of a mouse. I could see tiny

figures trying to hide from my perfect eyes in the blackness of shadow. My

eyes were no longer human eyes and I was totally free and happy.

I noticed that the sun was setting over The Castle and that a moon

rose in to the sky. But this was no normal moon. It was made from a pure

blue crystal. It was a giant gemstone in the sky. I could see the facets of

it's deep blue surface that were glowing mysteriously. It was so very

beautiful.

To: .

Subject: [labyfic] Jareth's early years: The birth of a king (Part 4 of 4)

From:

Date: Thu, 21 Sep 2000 20:31:08 EDT

I felt the icy night air rushing under my belly. The wind stirred

my feathers though it never once disturbed them from their setting in my

light owl self.

flew gracefully, enjoying myself and my freedom, the one thing that

I cherished and would cherish more then any power that I could hold in my own

realm and over another.

I flew. Flying as the white, barn owl was an escape for me. It

was freedom. It was a freedom from everything. It was a freedom from my

responsibilities. It was a freedom from my own existence. It was a freedom

from everything that I had ever done and would regret though would never

admit to regretting out loud.

I loved the feeling of the cool, icy breeze under me.

I was empty inside. There was darkness within me.

Life for me was becoming some horrible masquerade dance. And

everyone, I believed, in any world wears a mask, three masks, or faces

rather, to be precise. The first face is the face that you wear for others.

The second face is the image of the person that you would truly like to be,

and the third face and the hardest one to face is the face of who you truly

are. I was growing to hate masks. I wanted to see beyond the illusions and

lies. I wanted to face the truth. It is always best to face true darkness

as opposed to false light. If you wrap yourself in a blanket if deception

you will be left cold for one day it will be torn away from you.

As I flew over the forest, my owl eyes could see an unseen light

coating everything. It looked like mid-day out in the woods yet I could not

see the sun that I had momentarily assumed created this light. The leaves on

the trees that blew in the wind as they turned in gentle wisps, they looked

like small bright flames intertwining in to one mesh and yet I saw each

individual one as I had never seen things before. The tree leaves that were

dying in this cold seemed like flames as I said but they were not burning

away like flames. I was enchanted.

It was all new and different now. I saw as I had never seen in all my life

as a mortal woman and I knew and took in the knowledge of the night and my

surroundings as no other creature could.

Everything had a mild tint of bright yellow now and yet I could still

distinguish colours with my new and greatly improved, owl's vision. The

bright yellow in my eyes illuminated everything like it was some unseen

light. Everything had it's own light. The rocks even seemed to glow with

their own radiant light. I could see clearly now as I had never seen before.

I could see all around high up in all directions. The density of the forest

was nothing to me now.

I saw clearly and I saw far. The colours of the things surrounding me

were all so vivid and everything seemed strange and new as if I was a newborn

baby opening his eyes for the very first time, I still had not grown used to

how things seemed, looked, and felt as the barn owl. And it was marvelous.

I saw everything. Detailed insects, I saw, moving several yards away

from me moving in the earth. In the trees a beetle crunched down on a dried

leaf.

These were my owl's eyes that I was using.

My hearing was also strong now. I heard crickets as if they were giant

monsters surrounding me. I heard the sound of a goblin's clothing like the

movement of several parchments. The sound of another night bird of prey rang

in my ears for a moment. Was that a hawk?

I could smell the filth of goblins around me yet the air blowing towards

me was sweet and crisp. Never had a night seemed so beautiful.

I landed gracefully on to the green, grassy hill just beyond The

Labyrinth. There was a marker there, a small stone with Sarah's name on it.

The earth was still fresh on the grave, no grass yet grew there. The woman

that as a mortal man I had loved, lay here, forever. Without a blink I

changed to my true form. I stood kneeling before her grave. I never bowed

or kneeled before anyone or anything and yet there I was. No one would ever

see me in such a position again.

In my left hand appeared the most perfect of roses. It was a

perfect crimson colour, the blossom. I bit my lower lip because I thought I

might scream. The wind began to pick up around me. I could feel my cape

stirring in the air. It did nothing to protect me from my own inner cold. I

stood up, perfectly still, like an erect statue. My hand clenched tightly to

the stem of the rose, from under the thin layer of my glove I felt the thorn

pressing in and then the slight trickle of blood come through, as the thorn

stabbed in to my skin. Finally I kneeled again. I placed down the rose and

as I did a few droplets of my blood, from the thorns of the stem of the rose,

came through the wrist opening of my glove and dripped, the tiny drops,

three, on to her grave. Three tiny blemishes, each the colour of the peddles

of the rose, the rose left by the only man who would ever mourn her.

And for a moment my hand rested on the dirt that covered her

deeply buried body. My shoulder length, blond hair was picked up by the

wind and blew in to my eyes. I did not move to stop the whipping of my own

hair in to my face. My already naturally icy, blue, just slightly mismatched

eyes (the left pupil is somewhat larger then the right) stared coldly, as

they often seem cold, down at the grave. And I finally spoke up to no one in

particular, because I knew that no one could hear me. "I feel nothing for

you now, Sarah." About that, I was lying. "The man you loved is as dead as

you are." I shook my head and spoke softly, solemnly as if she could

actually still be hurt by my cold words. "And I shan't be visiting you

again." I sighed deeply and turned. I walked away.

Sincerely,

Jareth


End file.
